


Reunion

by EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, remeeting and bumping uglies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash/pseuds/EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash
Summary: Roman and an old acquaintance reconnect during a Gala at the Godfrey mansion





	Reunion

Once you had finished making formal introductions with your father, you stole away from the main ballroom where the annual Gala was being hosted, choosing instead to wander aimlessly through the empty halls of the Godfrey Mansion. You couldn’t help but smile as you meandered past the various parlors and sitting rooms, it had been at least ten years since you had last stepped foot on the marble tiles and yet they still felt familiar. With each stride you took you remembered more, the map of the floor plan becoming clearer in your mind as the obscuring dust was blown away.

Reaching the end of the west wing, you came upon a very familiar staircase. Gently, you laid your palm on the oak banister, taking careful steps so that the click of your shoes did not disturb the quiet that engulfed you so far away from the merriment. You always felt more comfortable alone in the dark, crowds had a way of grating on your nerves.

Sipping at the flute of champagne you couldn’t help but laugh at the juxtaposition. Last time you had climbed these stairs you were still a child, sobbing and covered in mud, screaming for your father. Now you moved with the poise and grace of a civil woman. Before you had been in jeans and a t-shirt, smeared with dirt from playing outside. Now you wore a custom fitted dress, designed for your figure. The scoop neckline accentuated your bust while the floral bodice cinched at your waist, leading into the skirt made of taffeta that bounced around you, light as air.

You were well aware your body was not model standard, but you never let that stop you, and it helped that your father’s wallet and status could insure you got whatever you wanted. You paired the dress with black tights with subtle heels, choosing to forgo any statement jewelry, and wearing your hair down in it’s natural waves.

Unconsciously you clicked your nails against the crystal flute, still not used to the length. Your father had suggested you get them done for the Gala, insisting on something other than your usual, short, bitten nails. Still getting used to the sensation of the acrylics though, you couldn’t help but constantly fidget and scratch, playing with the nails until they didn’t pinch. You did like the almost-black burgundy color you’d chosen though.

You were nearly halfway down the hall when you spied the door you were looking for. Stepping close, you did a double take of your surroundings, trying to see past the shadows of the long hallway, before twisting the knob and crossing the threshold.

Flicking on the lights, you took a final gulp of your drink before striding forward, taking in every detail of the bedroom. You could not abate the curiosity you had. The insatiable inkling to know what he’d been up to while you were gone, living outside of the country with your family, without directly asking him, and the best solution you could find was going through his personal things.

Giving a sigh, you tried to relax. The Gala was in full swing, there was no way that anyone would be up here on the third floor, you had the place to yourself. Placing the empty glass on the desk, you dug into your small bag, pulling out the cigarette tin. Never having been one with a taste for tobacco, you released the the latch, letting the lid pop open before pulling out one of the joints you had rolled in preparation for the boring evening of polite small talk.

You lit the end and inhaled while carefully maneuvering around the the mess of laundry on the floor, trying your hardest not to upset the landscape as you moved towards the bookshelf. Letting out a scoff, you couldn’t help but judge his personal collection.

Puffing on the joint, you weren’t surprised by finding innumerable amounts of Ayn Rand’s writing. _Of Course the spoiled son of a rich tycoon would be interested in objectivism_ , you mused to yourself as you traced a finger over the shelf. You couldn’t help noticing his extensive collection of books on Medieval society and technology.

A familiar title caught your eye, the gold embossed lettering on the spine glinting in the low light reading, _La Sorcière_. Lifting your hand to your mouth, you held the paper crutch of the joint with your lips before removing the curious volume. Letting the book fall open in your palm, you thumbed through the pages, too engulfed to notice any movement in your surroundings.

“What are you doing in here?” a strange voice asked.

You yelped in surprise, nearly dropping the book. “What the fuck,” you breathed coughing slightly as you grabbed the rolled paper, keeping it from falling to the ground and igniting the carpet. Clutching a hand to your chest, you turned around to face the owner of the room you were perusing.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Going through your stuff, obviously,” you stated with a roll of your eyes, emboldened by the alcohol as you fidgeted, flicking the end of the joint so the spent ash fell away.

“Who do you think you are?” he seethed, stepping closer before ensnaring your wrist with his fingers. He tugged at your arm, jerking your body to face him and drop the book.

“Really, you don’t recognize me?” you teased, your voice dripping with disdain. “After all the time you spent pulling on my hair and pushing me in the mud when we were kids?” You spoke with a bitter tone, barely touching on the way he’d torment you, while watching the realization wash over his features.

He mumbled your name under his breath before releasing his grip on your hand.

“And how’ve you been, Roman?” you asked in a mockingly saccharin tone, turning away to grab the fallen book and return it to the proper place on the shelf oh-so carefully before facing him.

You couldn’t help when your eyes went wide as you finally got a good look at him. It was more than obvious that he’d grown since you’d seen him last. He must’ve sprouted like bamboo when puberty finally hit. Before you’d left, you and he had been about eye-level, now he loomed over you, easily a foot taller than your small stature.

“Better now,” he murmured, blantaly eyeing your form. You rolled your eyes again, bringing the joint back to your lips as you tried to sidestep him.

He was faster, blocking your way and plucking the joint from your fingers. He held it between the pads of his thumb and index finger and lifted the end to his lips, taking a long drag before letting the exhaled smoke snake into his nostrils. You cursed yourself as you felt a weight drop in your abdomen, watching the wisps of white dance over the pink of his lips. You had promise you would not let these feelings arise.

“You still into weird shit like insects?” he asked, quirking his brow, watching for your response.

Letting out an exasperated scoff, you shot him an incredulous look. “You seem the same as ever. You were always awful.” Shifting to the other direction you tried to push past him but he quickly boxed you in, keeping you against the bookshelf.

“You really hated me when we were little, huh?” he asked, a smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth as his fingers slowly drifted to your hip.

“Yes, and I still hate you now,” you admonished, your hand flying to press against his chest, trying to keep some distance between you as he stepped closer.

Roman held your gaze for a moment before dropping his head. He bent forward, hunching into you as his lips brushed against the side of your neck. You couldn’t help your gasp at the first fluttering touches, his warm breath preemptively ghosting over the sensitive skin before his soft lips made contact.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice husky, humming over your neck, so close to your ear while you curled your fingers into the cotton of his shirt, trying not to moan. “Tell me why you hate me. Tell me how much.”

“You were horrible and cruel,” you began, fighting to keep the whine from your voice, digging your nails ever deeper into the muscles of his arm, though it only served to encourage him. “Y-you constantly teased me and broke my toys. You killed my pet–,”

Roman abruptly pulled back, his blue eyes instantly connecting with yours, “That wasn’t a pet, it was a fucking bug. And it wouldn’t stop making that stupid noise.”

“He was a hissing cockroach! That’s what they DO,” you challenged, leaning back so your palms rested flat on his chest. “And you killed it because you’re an asshole and you could! You did it just to upset me!”

You could see the smolder in his fair eyes, but were unsure of what his next move would be. You knew he was volatile and yet you chose to speak your mind as you always had.

“Yeah that’s true, I was only mean to you so you’d pay attention to me.” His admission caught you off guard. Before you had a chance to think and process what he’d confessed, Roman dove forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

It was futile to fight the instinct to respond, so you eagerly returned his aggressive affections while sliding your hands to his clavicle, closer to his shirt collar. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, feeling the pressure on your long nails as they jabbed into the skin under his oxford cloth shirt.

Roman pulled at your lips, biting the soft flesh before his tongue found its way past your teeth. You met his challenge, pushing back at the intrusion and wrestling with him. His hands dropped from the bookshelf next to your head to rest on your waist, tugging you harder against to him.

It took a moment for you mind to actually click that you were furiously making out with Roman Godfrey. Yes, you hated him, but those feelings weren’t as pure and concise as they once were. Going through puberty you found that you had a weird recurring dream of being intimate with him, the subject matter only growing more risque with your age. These dreams only served to confuse your emotions without curving your animosity for him. But here you were, actually pressed between him and bookcase as you had so often dreamt. He pulled back for a breath, smirking at the sight of your swollen lips.

If tonight was an evening for dreams, then you were going to reenact all of them, even your daydreams. Pushing against his chest, you reared one hand back before quickly dropping your palm to his cheek. The crack of skin meeting skin radiated to your core. You couldn’t hide your grin as you watched the pink begin to bloom under his pale flesh, imagining the prickles of pain he felt as he kept his head to the side. Slowly, he lifted one hand from your waist, the other staying firm, to touch at his lip, testing to see how profusely the cut on his inner cheek was bleeding. You could see the bulge of his tongue through the soft muscle as it ran along the hidden wound.

Grabbing your bicep, he flung you on to the bed with more ease than you expected. With a swift motion he was on top of you, pinning your wrists into the mattress. You couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability. Lying there underneath him, you felt like an upturn beetle stuck, immobile on its back with a carnivorous praying mantis looming above, readying to feast, just waiting to take advantage of your position.

He recaptured your lips in a hungry kiss before dropping his hands to creep under your skirt. You could taste the blood in his mouth before trailing your tongue along the injury as you kissed.

Eagerly he pulled down your underwear and pantyhose, though only so far to reveal your heat to the brisk air with the elastic band taught around your thighs, keeping your legs together. He slid his fingers over your skin before coming to tease at your lips. He pushed your knees to his right so you were laying on your side.

“You know,” he hummed lifting his head away a fraction of an inch so his lips still brushed yours as his fingers pushed past your folds, testing your wetness. “I still want to pull your hair.” You tried to fight back the shudder that coursed through you at the idea but it was useless, he could surely feel the flood that came with his words. “And I’m pretty certain you want me to.”

You let out a raspy moan as he lowered his mouth to your neck, nipping along your jugular while lacing his long fingers into the roots of your hair and tugged. Fisting the sheets, you wriggled against him as he hurried to release himself from his trousers before impatiently pushing into you. The sounds caught in your throat as he settled, revelling your warmth. The way he held you, with your legs together created a tight tension you’d never expected as his fist jerked at your follicles with each shove.

Releasing a hiss, Roman pulled his hips back and thrust into you hard, drawing a gasp from your throat. He slowly picked up his pace, leaning over you so he could study your blissful expression, they way your eyes fluttered shut while you kept one hand curled into his shirt, holding him close.

Letting his tongue dance across the small laceration in his mouth, he tasted the blood and tumbled unexpectedly over the edge. You could feel as he twitched and released inside of you, the sensations of his orgasm spurring on your own. Your walls spasmed around his length as his name spilt past your lips like a garbled mantra.

With a last sigh of relief, Roman pulled out and dropped to lay next to you on the mattress. He loosened his grip but still kept his fingers buried in your hair as he gazed at you, his expression bathed in a post-orgasm eurphoria. Cautiously you smiled back, biting at your lip as you slid your hand to his cheek, stroking the aggravated mark you’d left.

The pair of you laid in silence, taking deep breaths of the same air for what felt like eons, but was truly minutes. You were yanked back to reality by the sound of your cell phone ringing from your purse, discarded somewhere on the floor.

Awkwardly shuffling from the bed you hurried to answer, knowing it was your father calling, “Hello? Daddy? Hey,” you greet, holding the device to your ear. Roman could hear the muffled sound of your father on the other end. “No I didn’t go home, I ran into Roman. We’ve been, uh– catching up that’s all. Mhmm, ok, I’ll meet you in the main hall in a moment.” Returning your phone back into the bag, you stood up, grabbing the elastic waistbands around your thighs and shimmying them back up to your waist.

Turning back towards the bed, you found Roman sitting up watching you. He’d tucked himself into his boxers but his zipper remained loose as he studied you through half lidded eyes. “How long are you in town for?” he asked in a placid voice, a flat tone you could draw no meaning from.

“Another six weeks,” you replied cautiously, eyeing him as you straightened your skirt and gathered your things. He merely nodded in response and you left the room without further conversation.

You easily kept a cheery face as you joined your father, alluding that you and Roman had done nothing more than chat though you could still feel his seed dripping from you into your underwear with every step you took.


End file.
